That Green Eyed Girl
by Team Snufkin
Summary: Different chapters in the life of Syrah Syara, from the lonely orphan to the ExtrOrdinary Apprentice, to the Syren and beyond.
1. Prologue

_Long time no fanfic, but I spent the first two days of half term FINALLY getting to read Syren and the rest wondering what happened to Syrah. So here are my thoughts._

_The story will contain minor violence, lurrve and other stuffs, just though I ought to warn. And of course Syren spoilers. The "duh" goes unsaid. Naturally, I do not own Syrah, the Castle, Julius Pike, make a list if you have nothing to do. And, completely off the topic, I dedicate this to .Miracle, who has just read Artemis Fowl and id convinced Juliet is actually Butler's illegitimate daughter. Okay..._

**Prologue**

The mother was dead, there was no question about that. Her pale green eyes were glassy, her hands limp and cold as they clutched the unmoving baby.  
The Nurse shook her head at the watching man, and prised the baby carefully from the arms of her mother. Instantly, the baby began to wail feebly, her eyes opening in a flash. She was only about seven weeks old, but already her amber eyes were flecked with green.  
"Alive", gasped the Nurse, almost dropping the baby in shock. The little girl struggled weakly, disliking the stranger's grip. Her lips, fingers and toes were tinged with the telltale colour of the Blue Sicknesse, which had claimed the lives of a hundred already, including her mother. But she was, unmistakeably, alive.  
The father bent down and kissed the young woman for the final time, gently, closing her eyes. Then, without a word, her took his daughter from the Nurse and swept from the room.

* * *

William Syara died five summers later. He had been suffering from the Blue Sicknesse on and off for over a year. The child was put into the Castle Involuntary Orphanage Asylum, a home for those with nowhere else to go. And there she would remain until seven years later, when everything Changed.


	2. 1 Orphanage

_**NOTE: SORRY FOR LATENESS. BLAME MY INTERNET CONNECTION. IT LIKES TO HIBERNATE.**  
Update!!! I know this will seem really angsty and pathetic, but next chapter will be all HAPPY, this is just the depressing bit beforehand to make sense...Inspired by a cocktail of the beginnings of Jane Eyre and Lirael.  
Dedicated to cindylouwho101 for being the first reviewer. Only reviewer actually. Now is your chance to prove you love me... Or not. Fair enough._

**Chapter 1- Orphanage**

Syrah was one of the few children at the Castle Involuntary Orphanage Asylum who studied Magyk. There were few Wizard childen, and these all learnt in a small room adjacent to the main School Room, dark and full of books and the smell of Magyk.  
Syrah's father, knowing she would end up at the Orphanage when he died, as he had no relations, had written a letter expressing his desire for his daughter to learn Magyk.  
Magyk class today was dull. Eleven year old Syrah sat at her usual desk, at the back, alone, copying diagrams of common charms and daydreaming.  
In her fantasy, a dragon had landed in the Orphanage courtyard, a colossal green creature with thick red rings in its eyes. It lay there beating its tail on the ground, breathing Fyre at all the boys who laughed at her and put slugs in her shoes so that they fled yelling, their tunics singed.  
She smiled. That would show them.

After Magyk, dinner was served. This invariably consisted of some variety of stew. Today was onion. Syrah collected her bowl and took a seat at one of the two long tables, at the very end of the bench. She liked mealtimes, because she could sit and Watch everyone else, unnoticed.  
She was tearing her bread and idly following an under-the-table kick fight between some older children when the Big Doors swung open and the Governess swept into the room.  
Everybody stood respectfully up, a couple of boys surreptitiously hopping on the spot. A few paces behind the Governess- an audible gasp went round the fifty or so orphans- the ExtraOrdinary Wizard was surveying the room.

The Castle Involuntary Orphanage Asylum was state-run and needed funds from all sorts of places. A suitable sum came from the Palace at the end of each phase of the Moon, and the Staff had forged arrangements with a handful of rich merchants and dignitaries, who donated mostly to look good in high social circles.  
Traditionally, either the Queen or the ExtraOrdinary Wizard would inspect the Orphanage every seven years. Etheldredda the Awful was singularly uninterested in the Castle's (luckier) orphans, hence why Julius Pike now stood upon the grey flagstones of the Hall, the legendary Akhu Amulet glinting in the candlelight.  
Syrah had seen him once before, a month or so after she was put into the Orphanage. She was now weeks off her twelfth birthday, and still in awe of the tall, emerald-eyes man who's fine robes were embroidered with symbols of Magyk, gold upon the fine purple cloth.  
Julius Pike drew his cloak slightly tighter around himself in the chill of the Hall, briefly surveying each orphan in turn. Syrah thought his eyes lingered upon her for a fraction of a second longer than anyone else, but she quickly shook off the idea.  
The Governess led the ExtraOrdinary Wizard to the Top Table, and a large bowl of steaming onion stew was placed in front of him, with a large chunk of thickly buttered bread. Next to him, the Governor nervously flattened his hair. Many of the Senior orphans were wondering whether Julius Pike had heard stories of the Governor's cruel temper.  
Syrah fiddled with her own crust, her eyes upon the purple figure at the Top Table. When one of her regular intimidaters- a boy of fifteen with curly brown hair by the name of Marcus Gringe- leant over the table and snatched the remainder of her congealed stew, she did not even flinch. She kept watching Julius Pike quizzing the Governess about the Orphanage in a low voice.  
Syrah knew she should not, but she Strained her ears to Hear the conversation. She had learnt how to do so in Magyk a year ago, and excelled at it.  
"...Quite satisfactory, I can assure you." The Governess was saying.  
"I would hardly call this onion stew, though delectable, decently balanced. Do not think it has escaped my Notice how very thin the Young Ones are."  
The Governess mumbled something unintelligible.  
"How would it look, Miss Carant, if one of thy Sponsers turned up unannounced now, like I? The first impression of this place is little more than a poor-house for the servant children. They will not be pleased to learn the- _arrangements- _of their charitable financial donations. Not at all."  
Syrah Strained further to make out the Governess's response. She thought she made out "fiscal inconvenience" and "dependant yet not contributing" and "uphold an outstanding reputation".  
Julius Pike sat up straight and looked her square in the eye. "Are you suggesting that the situations of these orphans are due to their own fault?" he asked, his tone forcibly contolled.  
"With respect, I-"  
"This is the Castle Involuntary Orphanage Asylum. Not one of these children wishes to be here, nor would they be had they anywhere else to go. These walls are a place for the lucky ones, but they are no home. I ask you, Miss Carant, not to blame innocent children who have lost their whole families for your financial _mess_." At this moment he looked up, as though he Knew he was being Heard. Syrah hurriedly looked down, but not before his eyes met hers, once again, just for an instant. And just for that instant, she saw a tiny glimmer, a twinkle, deep in the emerald. Then someone snatched the bread from her hand, and the moment was lost.

There were twenty girls in the Orphanage, aged between seven and fifteen. The Juniors occupied one dormitary, the Seniors another. Syrah shared her room with nine other girls, all of them at least two years older than her. Occasionally she wished for the company of someone her own age, but as she had never had one, there was nothing to miss.  
Waiting for her turn in the Washroom, Syrah examined her reflection in the mirror. She looked little like she could remember her father looking, and had no idea about her mother. She liked to imagine she had had the same long brown hair, but the woman in her imagination possessed thick, shiny hair, and her skin was pale with ladylike elegance, not with cold and lack of protein. She had the amber eyes Syrah had been born with, but the woman's were brighter, happier.  
Syrah sighed and her breath clouded the glass. She traced a wobbly Akhu Amulet in the mist and went back to thinking, until she was shoved into the Washroom and told to "be quick about it." As she hurriedly tugged off her pale grey tunic, she saw one of the girls wipe the drawing from the glass with the palm of her hand.  
The bathwater was lukewarm. The Kitchen could only heat so much water in winter months- coal was so expensive. Baths were shared as well, and there was always a queue. A few minutes later, Syrah was pushed out to make way for the next lot. Unfortunately, her hair was still full of soap. But there was nothing she could do about this, so she had no choice but to lay down in her bed, in the corner of the room, her hair soaking wet and full of bubbles.

Fights were not uncommon, but always went UnReported out of general terror of the Governor. Three nights after, it was bitterly cold. There was a fireplace in the dormitary but no fire. Belinda Barrenhatch, who was almost sixteen, complained about the cold loudly for several minutes while Syrah tried to get comfortable. Then suddenly Belinda was at her bedside. She grabbed the covers and pulled.  
Syrah grabbed her blankets and tugged hard, but Belinda was four years her senior and a lot stronger. She quickly succeeded in ripping Syrah's winter cover away from her.  
"Give that back!" Syrah struggled, but failed. She got her ears pulled for her trouble. Belinda lay back in her own bed, laughed, wrapped in Syrah's winter cover.  
This was not the first time this had happened. Usually Syrah admitted defeat, but today was different. She had had both her meals taken from her, pages ripped her Magyk workbook, and the shouts of teasing boys still rang in her ears- "Run, little Wizard brat! Run away!"

The orphans usually knew better than to ask one another how they ended up there. Syrah did not know that Belinda Barrenhatch was, as the result of her parents' deaths when she was nine, rather unstable. The orphans were too young to understand mental illnesses. Belinda had a vile temper, which, although not often triggered, tended to result in the physical harm of others. Syrah knew nothing of how far Belinda would go in a dispute, and if she knew she would not have cared at that point. She cracked.  
Syrah lept out of bed and ran across eight other beds to Belinda, then jumped on her stomach. Belinda howled with pain and threw Syrah to the floor. Instantly she was surrounded by three angry girls, all of whom she had just trodden on.  
Syrah knew she was for it. She made a dive for a gap in the fence of legs surrounding her, bony elbows her only defence. There were cries as they hit targets. Quickly she scrambled up onto a vacant bed, where she could move from. She knew from experience not get into a corner, with no escape.  
Belinda had other ideas, She jumped up on the bed and grabbed Syrah by the hair, yanking hard. "Wizard scum." she hissed. Here Syrah usually returned to her corner. But tonight she was angry. Tonight she made a fatal mistake.  
"Get away from me, Hag." She snarled. "Go back to your Pit."  
Screeching in rage, Belinda shook her so hard that the room seemed to dissolve, then threw her to the floor. Syrah felt her head hit the corner of the stone fireplace. The pain swallowed up everything else, and eventually itself. It was tempting to slip away, to leave the room full of angry, hostile girls, the Asylum full of short-tempered, stupid children with nobody to love them...  
She only dimly registered being nudged by someone's toe. The blackness had eaten away her vision. Sounds echoed dully.  
"Is she dead?" That voice belonged to Elsie Lawrence. "Belinda, what have you done?"  
"I have not done anything." she sounded rather panicky. "And I hasten to add that none of you lot stood up for the brat either."  
"Shut up. This girl lying deathlike at our feet is _your_ own fault."  
"Now help us move her, and someone clean up this blood."  
Syrah would have whimpered, struggled, but she could not move. Large, cold fingers stroked her wrist. That must be Verity Crackle, who's father was a Physician. Nobody else would know to check for a pulse. She was slipping in and out of consciousness. Dimly, she felt herself being laid upon her own bed. So tempting, to slip away...  
"What if she does not wake?"  
"Then we must call Matron. She will know what to do."  
"And tell the truth?" asked Elsie.  
"Yes." This was Paula Underwood.  
"She may not remember what happened." Belinda sounded almost hopeful. "We could say she fell down the stairs."  
"Belinda, you will not tell such lies to save your own skin." Paula snapped. "Your temper is a wicked thing. Even I would not wish this upon the child."  
That was the last Syrah heard. The call to oblivion was overwhelming, and she gratefully succumbed.

When Syrah awoke, her head was throbbing painfully. She lay staring at the ceiling, awaiting sunrise, one hand creeping across her scalp to find the wound. There was a nasty gash running along the right hand side of her head, and possibly a bruise on her forehead, as that was sore to the touch.  
None of the girls spoke to her, or even glanced at her, when they rose. Syrah did not move. She did not ever want to move. Stillness didn't hurt. She remembered everything of last night, and resolved never to tell anyone. She had fought before, and threatened into silence, but never laid out cold.  
The dormitory emptied. Syrah lay on her bed, dried blood staining her hair, tears beginning to spill from her eyes, and wished, at that moment, for a miracle, that she was anywhere else but the only place she could be.

Three evenings later, the Staff came for her.  
Syrah had not moved at all in three whole days and being forced to sit up was painful to her cramped back and limbs. At first the Governer looked ready to deal Punishment, but he was ordered out sharply when they realised something was wrong. Matron swore when she saw the wound,but Syrah said nothing. All through the questioning she just shook her head and blinked. Finally, Matron gave up the interrogation and worked some quick Healing on the wound. She was left with a glass of water and a slice of bread-and-cheese, and instructions to return to classes the next day.

The ExtraOrdinary Wizard was supervising the running of the Orphanage for one day a week, for seven weeks. Apparently he was not happy, and the Queen had thus far failed to do anything. Her Court wanted evidence of mistreatment or book-fiddling, and he was there to catch it. Syrah saw him and mealtimes, and sometimes in the corridors. Each time he seemed to meet her eyes, as though sharing Something.  
One dinner time, sitting at the end of the table whilst two young children squabbled over her untouched carrot soup, Syrah's attention was drawn to the Akhu Amulet, the source of the power of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. It was a beautiful thing to behold, but slightly _wrong,_almost as if it was Tainted. It was greater Magyk than Syrah had ever seen, and it unnerved her.  
"Are you with me?" Someone was tapping her shoulder impatiently. Syrah gave a start and tore her gaze from the Akhu Amulet. Thomas Bucket, the oldest boy, was sitting next to her.  
"There is word you have been beaten." he said in a low voice. "By other children. And there are several whispered accounts of the Governor's rages. Apparently, there are several victims in this room."  
Syrah said nothing, but this was insignificant, as she had not uttered a word since the 'accident'.  
"Be that truth?"  
No response. Syrah stared steadily into his eyes.  
"What is wrong with you, child?" He frowned, vexed. But to Syrah, he looked angry. Terror gripped her.  
She felt a memory surface. She was eight and in front of the Governor. After one of Gringe's minions had gone too far, she had thrown a Stinging Hex at him and been sent to the wood-panelled office of the Governor. She had refused to speak to him, scared. Fury turning his huge face purple, he had shouted those same words, before striking her across the shoulder painfully with his cane and throwing her into the dusty, chilly cupboard for several hours as Punishment.  
If any other Staff knew of the Governor's Punishments, they were too afraid to report. None of the Orphans dared to speak out, just kept up the façade of living a sheltered, happy life, often even to each other.  
Syrah had no wish to recall that memory. Like a spooked dear she ran out of the Dining Room and outside, into the melting snow, and fantasized again about climbing the stone walls and escaping to a whole new life.

In the seventh week, Julius Pike was in her Magyk class.  
Syrah awoke first, and dressed quietly. She tiptoed down the stairs, mindful of the creaky spots, and went out into the garden. She crossed the muddy rows of seeds sown only yesterday and wilted turnips, sat down under the old yew tree.  
Syrah usually made a point of being invisible, especially wanted to be today- it was her twelfth birthday. But short of performing an Unseen, she could do nothing to avoid the customary congratulations from the Governess.  
She ate nothing at breakfast, nothing at lunch. She sat stony-silent and emotionless in front of the Governess, would not meet her eye. The birthday card she threw down the well, where it joined the mushy remains of the other six.  
When Syrah made her way along to Magyk class, she saw the ExtraOrdinary Wizard enter the room in front of her. The Akhu Amulet glinted accusingly at her. There was something no right, she just _Knew_ it.  
Syrah took her seat at the back and got out her books, trying to ignore the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. But this was like trying to take breakfast off a dragon. Her gaze kept flicking to the wretched Akhu Amulet.  
"Who can give the correct Antidote to the bite of the Giant Purple Spider?" asked the Mistress. Nobody raised their hand.  
"I didst not expect so. But it vital you know these things. The only- girl, cease scribbling!"  
Everbody in the room turned to look at Syrah. She wanted to flee. Instead she stared at her parchment.  
"She is not jotting awry daydreams." said Julius Pike suddenly. "She has written upon that that parchment the answer to every question you have posed to this class. But she does not share them." He strode over to her corner. Syrah attempted, majorly unsuccessfully, to shrink into the wall.  
"I wouldst not trouble thyself with Syrah Syara, sir. Knowledgeable she may be, but she speaketh not. Utterly useless in Magyk. She will never be a Wizard."  
Julius picked up her parchment. "All correct," he muttered.  
It was then Syrah Saw it. There was a Darke Aura around the Amulet, which rested over his heart. Something Darke was Inhabiting the Amulet, and it was stirring. What was she to do? She could Tell that a Life was in Danger. It was Decision Time.  
A split second before It pierced through the Amulet into the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's heart, Syrah leapt to her feet and ripped the Amulet from around his neck. The Mistress began to yell something in the background. A black cloud was escaping from the red-hot Akhu Amulet into the air. Most of the Orphans ran out of the room, yelling. The Darkenesse made Syrah want to shiver, and possibly retch.  
Julius Vanished the Darkenesse with a murmured Spell and silenced the Mistress with his hand. His face was a picture of shock.  
"That was a Dormant Darkenesse, inside my Amulet." He addressed himself as much as anyone else, in a shaken mumble, almost incoherent. "How come I did not Feel it?"  
He turned to the terrified Syrah. She could not believe what she had just done any more than enyone else. Taking the Akhu Amulet was Treachery, worth locking in the Dungeons. Dimly, she held out the Amulet that she had just torn from his chest. Now she was for it.  
"The chain is broken." Julius managed to say.  
Syrah bent down, still clutching the Amulet. She took the lace out of her left boot and threaded the ancient symbol upon it. Then the Orphan girl stood and offered the Akhu Amulet, dangling from her scruffy shoelace, to the ExtraOrdinary Wizard.  
Julius replaced the Amulet and smiled. "Syrah Syara, you have just saved my Life. You possess True Magyk. I offer you the position of ExtraOrdinary Apprentice. Do you accept?"  
And Syrah spoke her first words in seven weeks.  
"I accept." she declared.

_If it was a bit too _Oliver Twist_, let me know. xxx_


	3. 2 Apprentice

_Salutations, Heapers.  
I know its been absolutely ages, but I hardly ever have time to write. However, I should with any luck be getting my own PC soon, so I will be able to write long into the night without my dad moaning that the clacking keys are keeping him awake. Thanks for your patience.  
ALSO: Busy in Tesco? Wear a short dress and knee-high stripy socks. I do and they let me through because I'm weird._

CHAPTER 2 APPRENTICE  
**Disclaimer: Syrah etc belongs to me about as much as Robbie Williams belongs to Take That. Not much.**

Everything Syrah owned was tied in a bundle under her arm. She had no suitcase- she had never had a need for one. She wore her best Orphanage tunic, the only one with no darns, and her old square-toed boots. Tied in her red winter cloak were underwear and socks, her mother's wedding ring, her father's own Magyk book he was so proud of; her comb, a bracelet she had made from pebbles picked up off the dusty ground, her only belt, a winter scarf and gloves, and a few trinkets she had got on day trips around the Castle- a bronze replica of the Wizard Tower, an owl made from straw with beady emerald eyes, a silver coin with a hole in the centre threaded on a leather thong, and, most precious of all, a tiny glass sphere containing little jewel-bright planets and moons that moved. That was everything to her name.  
As she marched out with the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, now her mentor, Syrah turned for a last look at the place she had lived for the last seven years. All the orphans were clustered at the windows, watching her go. One of their number only left when they Came of Age, or, rarely, were adopted.  
Syrah had just time to wonder if anyone would miss her, then the gate of the Castle Involuntary Orphanage Asylum closed behind her for the final time.  
The early morning sun was beautiful. Syrah was distracted by birdsong and flowers in the dewy grass every time she felt even a flicker of fear. Julius asked her many questions, and she answered, getting used to conversation after seven years of near abstinence. She listened while she was filled in about her roles and duties, watching the sun rise fully. This was the first time she had felt so happy in an adult's company since her parents.

As the Orphanage was right at the other end of the Castle, the walk to the Tower was a good long one. Around them the people were beginning to go about their daily business. Traders pushed carts down cobbled streets,so that baskets of eggs and fragile glass wares took severe beatings. Women were hanging washing out on lines. Children ran and played in the alleyways. The streets bustled with talk and life.  
It was all a bit of a shock to Syrah. She hated crowds. Assemblies at the Orphanage had been dreadful, everyone's gaze upon you if you so much as sneezed or flexed your fingers. But here was very different; everyone here was _busy_. The crowds they passed through parted for the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, but nobody stopped. This was a new experience, and Syrah rather liked it.

"Wizard Way", announced Julius, some time later.  
Syrah had not seen the Way since she was five. It was much the same as what she could remember, which was little. At one end was the Palace, as grand was the painting of it that hung in the Orphanage hallway, and at the other, though she couldn't see it yet, the Wizard Tower. Wizard Way was lined with tall wooden torch stands and a strange variety of people. Syrah thought she saw a tall man in Alchemie robes disappear into one of the buildings ahead. A handful of Ordinary Wizards in pointed blue hats spotted Julius and came over.  
"What a fine morning, Julius. And be this the new Apprentice? The robes have been delivered. Well, I cannot linger. I have stuffs to purchase. Until later. Now, where was I..."  
Syrah was shown a few shops, the keepers of which greeted the ExtraOrdinary jovially. Syrah hung back shyly, her nerves beginning to resurface. She was shown the best places to buy parchment, quills, and vegetables, and introduced to the Chief Hermetic Scribe at Number Thirteen, the Magykal Manuscriptorium and Spell Checkers Incorporated.

And there was the Wizard Tower. Twenty-one stories high, topped with a golden pyramid, surrounded by a Magykal purple haze. In the courtyard, Wizards bustled to and fro on various errands. They passed under the Great Arch, and approached the Tower itself. The Great Doors were closed. Julius bent down and whispered the Password to her. "Say it." he said. "Go on."  
Hesitantly, Syrah muttered the Password. To her astonishment, the doors swung open. Syrah stared round, taking everything in. The beautiful colours, the luxurious decoration, the _space_. The floor in front of her flashed with golden letters; _Welcome, new Apprentice_.

Syrah's mouth fell open.

"Top floor, if you would oblige." Julius addressed the spiral staircase, which struck Syrah as an odd thing to do, as he pulled her on with him. A second later she understood as _the stairs began to move_. She felt quite giddy and was quite glad when they stopped.  
"This is your home now." Julius smiled. "You liketh?"  
Syrah couldn't speak; she just nodded.

Julius showed her the Pyramid Library, which she would have tidy, then her room. Syrah had never had a room before. When Julius closed the door to "leave her to it", she dropped her bundle, abandoned all nerves and respect, and spun around in circles, hair and tunic flying, giggling like a tickled infant.  
When she had finished, she untied her bundle and placed her possessions in the waiting draws, her special trinkets arranged on the window sill. Then, at last, she turned to the package lying on the bed.  
With trembling fingers, Syrah unfolded her Apprentice robes for the very first time. They were long and bottle-green, embroidered with Magykal symbols such as those she used to doodle dreamily in Magyk class. She threw the hated Orphanage tunic on the floor and pulled her new uniform over her head. It was soft and comfortable, if a little big. Then she picked up the silver Apprentice belt, thick and shiny, with hooks and pouches for Charms yet to be discovered. She fastened it around her narrow waist, and examined her reflection in the full-length, gilded mirror.  
The desolate orphan girl of the night before had gone. In her place, stood Syrah Syara, ExtraOrdinary Apprentice.  
And Syrah smiled. She was home, and she was happy.

_In a bit. As soon as I can, but I can't tell you how soon that is._


	4. interval 1

_Second update in a day. I'm on a roll. A cheese and lettuce roll.  
This is, of course, a third-person story, so I've decided the best way to get Syrah's thoughts in is through a series of these… I've actually no idea what to call them. Anyway, the - thingies- will be inserted at various points throughout the story to break up the narrative, etc, whenever I feel the necessity. _

I am a different person to who I was yesterday.

Tomorrow, I will be a different person to who I am today.

Today. Today I begin my Apprentice training. The Orphanage is just another memory.

Lying in a new bed, staring at a new ceiling, through new pre-dawn fuzz. Darkness and dreams.

I wasn't unhappy, not really. Just wasn't happy.

They tried.

Another memory, just another memory of the day before yesterday.

I didn't hate it. It didn't hate me.

They just didn't love me.

**--**


End file.
